I Believe in Sleep
by HotPinkCoffee
Summary: A series of one-shots about the Animorphs' home lives and how they've deteriorated. Cassie's chapter is up. Spoilers up until book #35 and Visser. Rated for some violent imagery.
1. Priorities

**I: Priorities**

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"Tell yourself there's nothing worse than the pain and the way it hurts, but tell yourself it's nothing new and that everybody feels it too. And there's no getting around the fact that you're thirteen right now." –Natalie Merchant, _Tell Yourself_

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"Rachel? Are you in there?"

I opened one eye, shut it again. "Go away."

The clock read 5:37. If it were the morning, I'd have a right to complain, but it was the evening, and every other girl my age was awake watching TV or hanging out. Not buried under covers, trying to get another precious hour of sleep. It was understandable that Jordan would think this would be a good time to knock on my door.

"Rachel, I just thought –"

"Shut up and go away, Jordan!"

I heard a sniffle from the other side of the door. She'd try to make me feel bad about yelling at her, but she wasn't gutsy enough to knock again. Eventually she'd go away.

I really didn't care what she thought. The night before I'd given up sleep to go try and check out a possible new Yeerk pool entrance. We'd been ambushed and abandoned the mission. Suffered terrible injuries. We're hard to kill and the wounds don't last long, but you can't help but be shaken when half of your jaw gets literally sliced off. So I didn't really care all that much if I'd hurt her feelings.

Sleep. That was what was important. Sweet, regenerative, restoring sleep.

I put Jordan out of my mind. Instead, as I drifted off, I pictured a grizzly bear pawing confusedly at a mouth that gaped open, pouring blood and teeth onto its chest.

I went downstairs at about 9 o'clock, planning on picking over some leftover dinner and going right back up to bed. Mom had left some of dinner on a covered plate. She used to fight about it when I didn't make an appearance for dinner, but eventually she just gave up and since then she's been saving me leftovers every time I don't show up. I guess it'll go down in history as the only time a battle of wills has ever been won against my mother.

I was heading back up the stairs when Jordan intercepted me. Popped up from behind the couch. Jeez, when did they start hiding thirteen year-olds behind the couch? She'd caught me off guard, which was bad. I shouldn't have let my guard down. If it had been someone else-

Hey, when did she turn thirteen, anyway?

"I thought you were going to come to the regionals today."

Oh. Right. "I didn't feel so hot. Later."

She looked put out as I started to turn away. "Don't you even want to know how I did?"

Okay, now I felt a bit guilty. I'd completely forgotten she'd been trying out for a spot in the state competition. "Of course I want to know. I just flaked because I'm tired, is all."

Jordan sighed and sat back down on the couch. "I fell off the balance beam. Once I screwed that up I didn't have much of a shot at anything." And then she started to sniffle again.

Good grief. "Yeah, well, it's a tough world."

Jordan looked like I'd slapped her. Her cheeks got red, her mouth gaped, tears spilled over her cheeks. "Is that all you can say about it? Don't you remember how _devastated_ you were when you missed the cut?"

I heaved a sigh. I guess that was a bit terse of me. But I'd really wanted to get back to bed, and here she was trying to get me to care about a stupid gymnastics competition. I sat down on the couch next to her. "I meant gymnastics is a tough sport. It's okay if you don't do well all the time."

"I didn't just do badly," she groused. "I fell off the beam."

As proof she pulled up her pant leg and showed me the purple bruise running up her calf.

I almost laughed, but stifled it and put on a straight face just in time. It was just ridiculous, her showing me a bruise and expecting me to care. Last night I was gushing blood, limping to safety while people shot at me. Watching as my best friend demorphed to dislodge a bullet the size of a deck of cards from her hips. Watching as the person I love was carried out in a crumpled mess of feathers, begging him to demorph and nearly crying with relief when he did.

And Jordan expected me to coddle her over a bruise?

Oh. She was looking at me expecting a reaction. I forced a concerned look. "Wow, that must hurt a lot."

She glared at me. "What's up with you, Rachel? I mean, you obviously don't care. You quit the gymnastics team and now you act like I should too just because it's not cool enough for you anymore. You never hang out with me and Sara anymore. All you do is go out with your friends and sleep. Mom says you're not even getting good grades anymore."

Great, now Mom was talking about my grades to my little sister? "None of your business. Look, I'm sorry you screwed up at gymnastics, but I'm not the person to take it out on. Maybe you just should've practiced more."

It was a cheap shot and I knew it. Jordan just kind of stared at me, gaping, fresh tears welling in her eyes. Before she could think of a retort I grabbed my plate of food and went up the stairs to my room. It's not like me to run from a fight, but I'm not stupid, either. I know when the damage is done and when to leave. Usually.

I ate my chicken and pasta. It wasn't very filling.

It was kind of sad. In the old days, I would have felt bad about making Jordan cry. I wouldn't have been able to sleep until I apologized or she seemed to not care anymore.

But now, I just told myself that she'd already been crying before I really ripped into her, and I slipped back to sleep by 9:45. And again, all night, all I could see was the carnage and violence. Injured friends and dead enemies. That bundle of broken feathers, and that dripping, bleeding bear.


	2. Earth Years

**II: Earth Years**

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"I wish I was an alien at home behind the sun." –Pearl Jam, _Wishlist_

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My home planet completes one orbit around the sun in the time it takes Earth to make seven orbits around this galaxy's sun. An Andalite year, therefore, is almost seven times as long as an Earth year. In my own years, I was a little over two years old, and a decent stretch away from three. Also, in my own years, I had only been away from home for less than a third of a year.

I've been told that humans do not consider this a very long time, because of their Earth's rapid orbit. In Earth years, I had been away from my home for over three years, and I hadn't communicated with anyone else of my kind in over two years. I've been told that for someone approximately my age, that is a very long time.

Yet in a way, I had family on Earth. Aside from my friendship with the other humans, I had my nephew, Tobias. I'd adopted him as my _shorm_. Certainly, he was both a true friend and a warrior to do his heritage proud.

And yet, since his capture by the Yeerks, Tobias had been different. More reserved, more impatient. While previously he had sometimes engaged in what humans call "sarcasm", now he rarely spoke to the others unless directly addressed, except to Rachel.

I had never seen the aftereffects of torture. Torture usually involved capture, and when on the Dome Ship it had been made clear that Andalites would never permit themselves to live in captivity long enough to be tortured, lest they be infested. But Tobias had volunteered himself, to destroy the anti-morphing ray, and suffered greatly as the result. I did not know if Tobias' behavior was temporary or a permanent change in his personality.

I'd made more of a point to visit his meadow since the event. I did not like to feed in his meadow, as he complained that my presence often scared off his prey, but I would make brief visits and he would follow me back out into the forests, staying within thought-speak range. Often we did not say anything, but I believed he found some comfort in my company.

{Hey, Ax-man,} he greeted me. {Good vole today.}

{I have found the grass this morning especially nutritious as well. I believe the current weather has produced grass with very high protein content.}

Tobias flapped and left his branch. {Enjoy it while it lasts. Rachel says it'll be a drought for the next few weeks,} he said darkly.

I attempted to restore the jovial mood of the conversation. {Would you prefer to come with me to the canyon or to the field on the mountainside? Surely either will be aesthetically pleasing at this time of day.}

{The canyon sounds nice,} he responded, noncommittally. I was getting used to Tobias sounding unenthused.

For forty-six minutes we traveled to the canyon side. I ran nimbly, as Andalites do, enjoying exercise that didn't involve bloodshed. Tobias soared quietly above me.

The canyon was indeed quite beautiful when we reached it. The sun had just begun to set, creating a deep red and orange hue. I understood what humans meant when they described sunsets as "breathtaking"; for a moment, I found myself taking unnaturally deep breaths as the color reminded me of my home sky.

From one of my stalk eyes, I saw Tobias wheel in the air above me, and then dive with his wings tucked tightly to his body, directly into the canyon. It was uncharacteristic, especially as I doubted he was hunting. I leaned over the edge of the canyon, watching him descend, and was suddenly struck with the fear that he wouldn't end the dive before hitting the ground.

{Tobias!}

From my perspective, it seemed that he flared his wings and flew back upwards mere human feet from the bottom. It took several minutes for him to make his way back into thought-speak range, as his dive had taken him several hundred yards laterally and the ascent was more difficult than the descent.

{Sorry about that. Had an impulse.}

{I was concerned.} I didn't mean to sound upset, but I was more unsettled than I should have been.

The sun was finishing setting. Tobias would be anxious to return, as his vision decreases significantly in the dark.

{There's another hawk encroaching on my meadow. I'll have to fight him off tomorrow.}

{Please do not obtain any injuries,} I said. He said nothing back. I was, of course, aware that any injury could be repaired by morphing, but I did not want Tobias to suffer any more pain than he already had in the last few human months.

{From the rising of the sun to its setting, to its rising again, we place what is hard to endure with what is sweet to remember and find peace,} I said, not feeling very much at peace.

We returned to the meadow in silence. I secretly wondered if Tobias' impulse had had more upsetting intentions, or if I was simply assigning my own opinions of his torture onto a perfectly natural dive.

{Tobias?} I asked when we'd reached his meadow.

{Yeah?}

{I only have limited friendship through the Animorphs. And I only have one family member on Earth with me.}

He remained silent.

{I would like to continue to have family on this planet.}

His feathers ruffled a bit. His head jerked away, staring at the meadow and away from me. {You don't have to worry about me, Ax. I'm not stupid. And at the very least I'm needed.}

{Good night, then.}

{Yeah, Ax-man. Good night.}


	3. Bedroom Walls

**II: Bedroom Walls**

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"Your bedroom walls are falling down, and everyone can see you now." –Hole, _Skinny Little Bitch_

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"No, no, no! Give her back!" I was strangling her, cradling her, choking the life out of her with my thick black hands, keeping her from falling and pushing her at the same time. Visser One reached to gouge out my eyes with claw-like nails, pounded me on the head, knocking incessantly. I squeezed harder, feeling her throat collapse under the pressure, and I was William Roger Tennant. My mother's eyes bugged out. And then they burst into compound fly eyes.

And still she kept hitting me in the head. Except-

"Marco, are you alright?"

My room. My floor. My human hands wrapped around a bundle of my blankets. My digital clock glowing with the time. My dad's new wife knocking at the door. My dad's new wife's dog yipping downstairs.

"Uh, yeah, am now, dream. Okay now." My usually razor sharp wit was pretty obscured by it being three a.m., me being in a heap with my blankets on the floor, and me having just had a dream that would make the director of The Exorcist wet his pants.

She cracked open the door. "Can I come in?"

I started untangling myself from the sheets. I must have thrashed around enough to fall off the bed. They smelled like sweat. "Yeah, sure. Where's dad?" I was shaking. Not just my hands, not just trembling, but full-on shaking.

Hopefully Nora wouldn't notice in the dark. I tried to look more put together so she didn't think her husband was raising a teenage psycho. She sat at the edge of the bed. "He's sleeping. I'm surprised you didn't wake him up this time."

"That loud, huh? Well, I mean, I guess a heavy-sleeper dad is good news for my dating life." Lame joke, really lame joke. I was tired. My head hurt. And my stepmom was on my case because ever since she'd moved in, she'd wake up every few nights to the sound of her stepson screaming bloody murder at some unholy hour.

"Peter works hard. He's pretty exhausted by the end of the day." Nora sniffed. I wanted to say _come on, lady, I'm a full-time student and I fight aliens as an extracurricular, I can guarantee you I'm more exhausted than he is_, but decided snapping at Nora wasn't quite worth blowing our chances at survival.

"Yeah, well, um, I'm okay, so you can go back to bed if you want. I don't know if you think I wanted hugs or something, but I'm going to have to disappoint you on that one."

Nora looked at me kind of pityingly. I hated that look. The "poor little stepson who's too macho to open up about how much his dad's marriage bothers him" look. "Is there something that's bothering you that you aren't telling us? Something at school, maybe?"

On the list of people I felt comfortable opening to, Nora would probably be pretty close to dead last. Except that that didn't matter, because that list didn't even exist. "Cafeteria food gives me pretty bad nightmares, I guess."

Nora sighed that long-suffering I-am-trying-to-help-you sigh. "Look, Marco, I see a lot of kids every day, and a lot of them, you know, are seeing somebody. A professional. There's no shame in it. I'm pretty sure most kids your age don't, ah, sleep this poorly."

_Hello doctor! My stepmom sent me here because I'm having nightmares from turning into a monkey and battling brain-stealing aliens in my spare time! Oh, by the way, sometimes I have to kill my dead mom! What's that? I should wear this funny jacket?_ "Thanks but no thanks, Nora."

"Well, since you're that opposed, Peter has some sleeping medications back from when he was…grieving. It's prescription, but it would probably be okay if you took some, just to see if it helps."

My patience was wearing pretty thin. Maybe if I agreed to this, she'd go away. "Is that the "don't operate heavy machinery" kind of stuff?"

"I'd have to check the packaging. You can try it out over the weekend if you're worried it'll leave you zoned out in the morning."

"I'll think about it." I conceded. "Can I use the next four hours for actual sleep now? Because if you hadn't noticed, that's a commodity I don't get much of these days."

She looked hurt. I didn't care. I was sure my dad would give me some speech about how I should try harder to make Nora feel welcome and could I not be so dismissive? and all that later, but right now my pillow was calling the sweet song of slumber. She got up to leave. "Is it difficult, pretending to be too tough to talk to anyone all the time?"

"Yup. It's a total buzzkill."

She pressed her lips together; I sighed. Might as well try to send her away without having her be angry enough to tell on me. Maybe I could avoid the earful later. "Hey, thanks for waking me up. Good night, Nora."

"Good night, Marco." And she left.

Not like getting rid of Nora did me any good, though, since I spent the next four hours staring at my ceiling fan until the alarm went off.

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On Friday, I came home and found a bottle of pills with a little note on my desk. _Take one-half of a pill about an hour before bedtime. Don't put your homework off til Sunday. –Nora_

I wasn't sure. The idea of being too drugged up to react properly was really scary. What if the Yeerks came at night? What if they started Draconing the house and I couldn't wake up in time to find my dad and get out? It was never an impossible scenario that they'd attack our homes, and ever since Visser One had realized who I was, it was even more likely. The threat of evil aliens was the ultimate anti-drug program.

Then again, was I any more useful running on only a handful of sleep every day? I'd gotten sent to Chapman's office twice today for falling asleep in class and had tried unsuccessfully to nap through lunch. My grades, which had never been stellar, were pretty close to marking me as a future dropout. I couldn't think clearly, couldn't focus, knew I was letting things slip past me when we discussed strategy. And I was supposed to be good at that.

And it had been a really terrible few months. I'd let them retake my mother as a host, because she'd asked me too. And before that I'd gotten into even worse body horror than usual, with a circus of animal mashup freakshow morphs. And before that I'd been electrocuted and nearly bled to death on a mission, possibly the single most physically painful thing that's happened to me in a long line of physically painful things, and I couldn't even really complain about that one because at least I hadn't been tortured like Tobias. Before that? Almost killed my best friend's brother.

And before that I'd had the Freudian nightmare fodder of trying to kill my mom. Visser One. And hadn't even had more than a week to process that. I was still processing that. I still thought about that instant every night before I fell asleep, while I said goodnight to her picture. I still woke up in the morning feeling like I was going to throw up, having dreamt about it.

So you know, it would be really nice to have a night that didn't feel like Eraserhead meets Mommie Dearest.

I tried to watch TV for a few hours while that little pill bottle taunted me from the desk. Tried to play on the computer, tried to concentrate on the normally captivating pictures of the Baywatch cast. Considered dribbling a basketball in the driveway, thought better of it. Tried to remember the last time I'd woken up in the morning feeling refreshed.

What were the odds that they'd come after us this one night? Then again, what were the odds any night? Was I being paranoid? Was I just being smart? Was there a difference anymore? Why did Nora have to give me the choice? Was she a Controller, intent on drugging me and infesting me? Had they gotten to her?

What I wouldn't give for a good old-fashioned dream about forgetting my pants to class.

I flopped onto the bed. My dad didn't wake up to me screaming every few nights, so he probably wouldn't wake up if they started Draconing the far side of the house. So. No pills. No refreshing sleep. No dreamless, peaceful night. No clear-headedness in the morning.

No clue how Jake did it, all the decision-making. I couldn't take responsibility for a single night, much less years of war. Sans adrenalin, I was just another under-slept kid with a short attention span.

But I could stick to routine, and having made the decision was somewhat comforting. I could take a shower, brush my teeth, say good night to my dad and Nora, turn off all the lights. I could crawl into bed, say good night to that picture of my mom, try to put that moment on the cliff out of my mind, sort through the usual questions of why us, and pull the covers over my head.

Peek-a-boo, cruel world. Please don't blow up my house tonight.


	4. Almost Every Day

**IV: Almost Every Day**

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"Someday this place is going to burn, and your whole life is in there waiting. Someday their heads are going to turn and they'll realize you're missing."-Matthew Good Band, _Suburbia_

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Almost every day it went like this. I went home after school and took out my homework at the dinner table, pretending for the world that I was a regular teenager struggling with math. I listened to my mom as she talked about her day and started dinner.

I pretended the whole time that I was just a sociable kid who liked being around his family, but secretly, I was listening in for anything they said that might alert me to plans Tom had to infest my parents. Dad and Tom going on a camping trip? I volunteered to go along. Mom and Tom shopping for his shirt for his senior photos? I'd come too.

Lately, though, Tom probably didn't have much of a chance to try and take my family. I was sure he was more determined to do so than ever now, now that he'd had such a close call at the lake. But there was only so much he could do in a wheelchair, and he probably wasn't going to give the Yeerks any more close calls by bungling up an infestation attempt. He'd probably been lucky to avoid execution after having his leg so badly broken. The doctor had predicted that he may have had a permanent limp, but he was pushing himself to do so well in his physical therapy that he was probably going to end up fine. Still a suitable host body.

I wondered if inside, the real Tom was trying to sabotage the therapy efforts. I wondered if he'd have preferred to die than to stay a slave. I wondered that sort of thing more and more. I wouldn't have been able to live with killing him, or with having one of my friends do it, so I guess maybe it was selfish to keep him around. On the other hand, I didn't want to believe Tom has given up hope. So I didn't.

Almost every day I woke up and told myself Tom was still fighting.

"Hey, midget!" Tom wheeled his way over to me. "Working on stuff from Skinner's class?"

"More like staring at it. This negative distribution stuff doesn't make sense," I said, playing the part of the younger brother perfectly, a counterpart to his act of the older brother who's been there, done that.

A smile that I knew was fake worked its way over Tom's face. It looked genuine, of course, but it was all calculated. "I could help you with that. I learned a way last year that just made that distribution stuff all make sense. Just pretend it's a negative one and not a minus sign in front of the parentheses."

That didn't make any sense to me, but I still said "thanks, that really helps. I guess I should do this, then. You can keep watching TV or whatever."

Truth was, I didn't want to spend much time with Tom. I'd go with him if my mom or dad was going, but I tried my best not to interact with Tom any more than I had to. I was afraid that my oblivious act would crack and I'd say something to let him know I knew what he was. But maybe Tom knew that, because he said "Yeah, right. You still look clueless. I don't have anything better to do. I don't mind helping a little moron out."

"I really can do this by myself," I said tersely.

"We could shoot hoops afterwards. You might even have a shot against me, being able to walk and everything."

"No, thanks." I gritted my teeth.

"What's the deal, man? I don't bite." He looked hurt. For a moment I wondered if the real Tom was in there, confused and sad that his little brother wanted nothing to do with him. Or was he in there jeering at the slug in his head, mocking him for his imperfect impersonation?

I grunted and refused to look at him. After a few moments, he said "okay then" and wheeled off to watch more TV. It was the news. The real Tom would have watched ESPN, not our local news anchor.

To be honest, it was really exhausting being around Tom. In addition to having to keep up a seamless act of ignorance, it was tiring having to wonder. In fact, just about everybody tired me out. Having to constantly think about lying and covering things up and talking in code sucked when I was around normal people, and having to act like I knew what I was doing and like I was unafraid around the other Animorphs was even worse. Acting like I was okay with the fact that usually, I had just almost gotten them all killed, or asked them to get tortured, or considered killing their family members. And sometimes mine.

But Tom was the worst. I couldn't stand knowing that the real Tom was in there, looking through eyes he can't move. I did't want to think about it, because thinking about it was too painful. One of his former Yeerks had been in my head. I'd been subjected to all the memories Tom had of total despair. Every time I saw Tom, I had to push those memories back out of my mind. If I didn't I risked everyone, because I would be tempted to say something comforting.

A long time ago, after the Yeerk in my head died, I took a risk and delivered a hopeful message to my brother. It was stupid and dangerous, but I had to do it. And knowing it was stupid and dangerous, I promised myself and the others that it would be the last time any of us did something like that.

But it was still tempting to say something, or do something, and because of that it was easier to just push Tom out of my mind. But that wasn't right either, because I didn't want to forget that my brother was still alive. Not thinking about Tom at all wasn't really an option, so it was either pretend he was a lost cause or remind myself that he was in there suffering. Honestly, I didn't know what was better. Almost every day I changed my mind about it.

I hoped that someday I'd find a way to think about it that didn't drain every bit of energy from me. Either my brother was gone or he wasn't. Enough of the in-between. But most of all, I hoped I wouldn't have to think about it at all one day, because he'd be free.


	5. Biology

**V: Biology**

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"Killing things is not so hard, it's hurting that's the hardest part, and when the wizard gets to me I'm asking for a smaller heart." –Amanda Palmer, _Trout Heart Replica_

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"Cassandra!" My mom yelled up the stairs at me. "Cassandra, young lady, get down here immediately!"

I tensed up. My mother only calls me Cassandra when she's upset with me, and I'd left my mid-quarter report card out on the table earlier that afternoon. It had to be signed by a parent and I hadn't had the guts to actually approach her with it.

Funny, that. I've been ripped to shreds, had limbs torn off, stared death in the face. I've killed. I guess you could say I've murdered. The difference gets harder and harder to parse these days. I've been terrified and in pain and near death, and I still didn't want to face my mom with my science grades.

I slinked down the stairs in shame. She was sitting, cross-legged, coffee cup in her hands, looking none too happy with me. My dad sat next to her, also with a coffee cup in hand, also looking none too happy with me.

My mother nodded towards the table. "Sit."

I did, then waited for them to make the next move. After giving me the stare-down for what felt like ten minutes, my mother said, "I never expected you to get a D minus in anatomy and biology. I don't understand. I called the school because I thought there'd been a mistake."

I didn't say anything to that. I was formulating my next lie. I'm always formulating my next lie.

"Cassie? Cassie, look at me. Why did you get this grade?"

I sighed. I wanted so much to be able to tell her the truth, or even better yet, for the truth to be "I was flirting with Jake" or "Rachel sat next to me all quarter" or even "I'm just not good at biology", but I knew, like I always knew, that I'd just have to lie to them both again. It made me want to cry.

Before this whole thing started my parents and I were so close, so honest with each other. The only time I'd ever really lied to them was when I was six, and I'd taken some candy from the checkout line. I'd protested to my mother that I was innocent, but I'd felt so bad about the theft and the lie that the next time I was at the store, I returned the candy, even though it was old and had been crushed in my sweaty six year-old hands by then.

"I guess I had a lot of trouble paying attention this quarter." Well, not a total lie.

My father pursed his lips. "And why was that?"

I shrugged.

"Cassie, I know Jake was in your class. If he's the reason you're so distracted, we're going to have to ask him to not come over anymore," my dad said sternly.

That was a terrifying prospect. Not because I wouldn't see Jake that much – well, not just because of that – but because the barn was the most convenient, accessible meeting place for us to plan our missions. I suppose Jake could always sneak in, but I didn't want to have to hide more of our members than we already did.

"No, it wasn't Jake!" I said too quickly. I could have kicked myself in frustration. I had never been a good liar, and while I'd gotten a lot of practice in the last two years, I would never be great at thinking of a story on my feet. "It was just, um, a really boring teacher this quarter. I had a lot of trouble focusing."

My mom looked shocked. "I thought you loved Ms. Hendricks!"

"Well, um, I guess her lectures got really dull after she had her baby or something," I was talking into my chest now more than anything, doing all I possibly could not to make eye contact.

"Cassie, you know if you want to get into Berkeley for vet school, you'll need good grades. You're in high school now. Your grades count."

I sat up straighter, trying to play tough so I could mask the fact that I was abjectly miserable. Miserable with my grade, miserable with lying to them, miserable with a war that had made this the story of my life. I knew, deep down, had to know I was doing the right thing, especially times like now, or after a battle, when it really didn't feel like it.

"Berkeley's kind of a pipe dream now, right? I mean, I'm not ever sure I want to be a vet anymore-" their faces dropped. "Maybe I'll go into environmental policy or something instead," I added quickly.

"Well, either way, try and pay attention in class. You have four weeks to bring this grade up and even if you're not doing vet work, you need good grades," my dad said. My mom looked like she wanted to continue, but my dad seemed to know that nothing but hurt feelings would come out of this conversation continuing.

"Okay, dad. I'll bring it up. Promise." I got up to go. "I have homework."

As I was walking out, my mom called after me. "Cassie?"

I turned. I looked her in the eyes. "Yes, mom?"

"This grade is very disappointing. I know you can do better." She said, then softened a bit. "You know you can talk to us, right? You can trust us, just like we trust you."

I turned back away before I said, "I know, mom. Thanks."

After dinner they went into the living room to watch Natural Geographic. I told dad I'd do the evening meds round and went to the barn.

As long as we've lived here, since I was just learning to walk, the barn has been my favorite place. It's always been comforting, fill with animals that need me, in a familiar environment that I recognize more than my own bedroom. It's lively, a bit noisy and has a very distinct smell to it. I've always known it's what I've wanted from my life. When I was little I played nurse, following my father around as he tended to them, watching and learning everything he did. Up until recently I was his assistant.

Tonight was different. Most of the animals were sleeping, and since one of the lights had gone out, it was dimmer than usual.

Tonight the injured raptors in their cages reminded me of the dying eagle we'd used as a Trojan horse on one of the last missions. He could have died peacefully, with a lethal injection my father would have administered once he'd stopped eating. Instead he'd been eaten alive by Taxxons. Tonight the few injured reptiles reminded me of the throats I'd ripped from Hork-Bajir. The mealworms we used to feed injured rodents writhed like Taxxons.

But more than that, the barn reminded me of the life I was supposed to have, before all this happened. Before I was asked to kill on a regular basis, to decide between one sentient race or another, to be placed in a situation of kill or be killed. I knew that this was how it was in the wild, a battle for survival, but I'd always thought humans were better than this. I'd thought we were sentient so that we could protect those that couldn't speak for themselves. I'd thought we could be above killing.

But when it came down to it, I'd made the same decisions as any non-sentient being would. I'd decided self-preservation. I guess self-preservation of my species. I don't know why it's okay to kill Hork-Bajir and Taxxons and not humans, if not just that they're my species. They're my species and Elfangor had given me the power to play God.

I was supposed to grow up and be a vet, like my parents. I'd get good grades, go to Berkeley, and then come back and work here with my dad. I'd take over his work when he retired, not that he ever really would. Maybe I would marry someone, maybe Jake, and have a few kids who would grow up on the farm riding horses and climbing trees.

My parents would trust me. They would be proud of me. I'd be proud of me.

But I wasn't. I knew I could be thinking, "I'm saving the human race", but I all I could think was "I'm a murderer, a hypocrite and a liar". And every word of it was true.

My mother had said she'd trusted me. She didn't even know me. I was an imposter in a house full of people who thought they knew who their daughter was.

The animals did. They understood the idea of kill or be killed. Like me, they lived it every moment. But while they had never understood morality, I was simply discarding it. I was losing the part of me that I never wanted to let go of, because it was an inconvenience in war. Maybe a deadly inconvenience.

The animals weren't comforting tonight. They were a terrifying reminder of how far I was drifting from the human I was. Had Elfangor known that he would turn us into animals in more ways than one?

So no, I wasn't proud of me. There was no way to be proud of this cowardly, hypocritical, lying killer who stood in her barn, surrounded by animals that didn't understand any of that.


End file.
